


(Body) Shots Between Friends

by scalphunter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Kink, Porn With Plot, Post - Captain America: Winter Soldier, Romance, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scalphunter/pseuds/scalphunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky/Steve + club 'body shots' challenge. </p><p>That, is exactly, how Bucky ends up on his knees, a shot glass lodge in the waistband of Steve’s jeans, his shirt hoisted up to show off firm abdomen.</p><p>Excuse for porn with a whole lot of plot. Need I say more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Body) Shots Between Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a twitter conversation (between me and Maggie) involving text messages sent between Tony, Bucky and Steve. 
> 
> **Bucky is recovered after all the Winter Soldier crap (months of therapy) and he's accepted into the tower by Tony and all his feelings for Steve come crashing back.
> 
> Music: I Want You So Bad I Can’t Breathe by OK Go
> 
> For Maggie & Visnja :)

**_ The morning after the night before _ **

The first thing Bucky does in waking up is pat blindly on his side table for his phone to text Tony who readily replies – which is a miracle in on itself.

_Tony: You did body shots off of Steve. You guys are straight: then there’s each other where you hit gay-zone. It’s cute._

Bucky stares at the phone, texts back, and then chucks it sideways onto his duvet, the memories of last night blasting his mind and taste buds. Tequila. Oh, how he hates tequila.

_Bucky: Oh FML._

 

 

**_ The night before _ **

****

It’s 20:00 hours and Bucky exits his room, locking the electronic pad, and accompanied by a wolf whistle. He spins about and spots Tony languidly resting on the wall a stupid great big grin on his face. Tony is dressed in his usual attire (a playboy suit), although the dark green shirt and waistcoat are new. His tie is wonky and his hair is expertly styled into bed hair – the combination makes him look rakish and like Pepper’s had a go at him before he arrived. Bucky gives him an obvious once over, raises an eyebrow, and smirks.

‘Not bad’ he says and Tony scoffs in an air Bucky has come to know means whoever Tony is talking to doesn’t know enough so their comment is invalid. He would be offended only he does the same thing.

‘Are you aiming to get laid to tonight, Barnes?’ Tony asks in a neutral tone. Bucky shrugs.

‘If it happens it happens but I ain’t going out of my way to chat up some girl’ he replies and Tony makes a soft appeasing noise, like he agrees.

‘Well, you’re going to attract enough attention without doing much anyway’ and there’s that smirk again, ‘let’s go and find our favourite Boy in Blue’ Tony says and leads the way to the elevators and down to the garage where Steve is standing, not so subtly, by the Corvette, on the phone. He smiles at both of them and ends the call.

‘Very nice, Stevie. We’re going to have to watch you don’t get pulled into a cloakroom,’ Tony compliments.

‘Thanks Tony. Darcy is disappointed she can’t come’ Steve says as they approach him.

‘Oh, well, she’ll have to drool over you another time’ Tony says and Steve rolls his eyes. It’s a known fact that Darcy has her eyes firmly locked on Steve and eyes him up every time he walks into a room, as if she’s picturing him sans clothing, which she probably is.

Steve still has the vibe of ‘good boy’ out of the three of them, his shorter hair is half neat half messy, wearing a dark blue Henley, blue-black wash jeans that hug him, and a pair of dress boots.

Bucky, on the other hand, is a mix between the two of them: wearing mottled grey skinny jeans, a black fitted t-shirt and boots, and the bracelets on his left wrist are fabric – he found he has liking for them (one of them is from Natasha, _‘Udači!’_ stitched on it, meaning‘good luck’ in Russian).

‘Bucky, your pick’ Steve says and he scans the garage sceptically.

‘If you pick the Chevy I’m leaving you behind. I go to Stark Industries in that’ Tony warns and Bucky really wants to pick it out of spite but he also has his eye on a vehicle.

'The Aston Martin, Vanquish' he says and Tony cheers.

'And for that, Bucky, you can drive' and Bucky beams. 'You have the taste of a British Secret Agent'

'I try' he says dryly.

 

The slam of the Vanquish’s doors echo as they get in, Bucky taps into the system, the internal lighting and headlamps coming on.

 _‘Good evening, Agent Barnes, I see you have picked the Aston Martin. I congratulate you on your choice’_ JARVIS welcomes. Tony installs JARVIS into every car and personalises (upgrades) them to his wants and needs – or he just tinkers around.

‘Thanks, JARVIS’ Bucky answers and Tony inputs the directions for club _One Of A Kind_ in the Meatpacking District, where the billionaire has a life membership and free entrance for close friends.

 

 

When they arrive, Tony directs him to park in the VIP area and jumps out of the car to greet one of the bouncers who is larger than Thor. Bucky glances at Steve who shrugs, the bouncer looks over at the Vanquish and nods solemnly. The girl who appears beside the bouncer is tiny in comparison, and her smile is genuine when she hugs Tony.

‘This is Maggie, a friend of Pepper’s. This is Steve and this is Bucky’

Maggie offers a hand to both of them, kissing them on the cheek respectively in politeness. As she pulls back she winks at Bucky. He grins in the way that got more than a fair share of girls back in the day. It works. She giggles, licking her lips.

‘Maggie’ Tony says and Maggie’s professionalism returns in full valour.

‘Yes, apologies, nice to meet you gentleman. Enjoy your evening’

Tony flashes his trademark shark grin at the paparazzi who are already popping out along the red velvet ropes.

‘Smile boys’ he murmurs past gritted teeth in a wide smile, and they stand together as a trio for the camera man who shouts a ‘thanks!’.

And in they go, the low steady beat of music filters in and it’s a friendly and chilled atmosphere. If you took a cursory look at them, you might just think they were three mates out for a drink, Bucky briefly wonders just how many times they’ll be recognised tonight (excluding Tony because 99.9% of people recognise Tony). They head straight to the bar, Tony handing over his card, ordering drinks. Another perk is that tonight Steve can get drunk. Bruce gave him a chemical override which staunches his barriers against alcohol. However, Steve being Steve, he’ll still be the most sober out of the three by the time they go home.

‘The fuck is that?’ Bucky asks as a bright (yes, nearly luminescent) pink drink is placed in front of him, a varied explosion of umbrellas and straws sticking out of it.

‘It’s a Watermelon Daquiri’ Tony answers and his shit eating grin is back.

‘Watermelon. Really? Do I _look_ like a guy who orders Watermelon Daquiri’s?’ Bucky snorts, sends the drink a dark look. He wanted a whiskey or a beer maybe, not some sugary cocktail.

‘Hey, watch it, what are you saying about men who like Daquiri’s?’

Steve nicks the glass; lips form a perfect O-shape around one of the many straws and taste-testing it. Bucky drags his eyes from Steve's mouth to his eyes and his heart skips a beat as his friend winks at him.

‘It’s nice. I like it’ Steve says, so Bucky rolls his eyes.

‘You have it then’ he states, and gets a Jack Daniels for himself instead.

 Tony’s laughing at them, holds out his own drink, some blood red cocktail with a lime on the glass rim, for a toast.

‘To enjoying the city we love to protect’ and that shocks Bucky and Steve who share a look. ‘What? I can’t have gravitas? Alright – to boys, booze and bad music, happy now?’ and Steve chuckles fondly at him. Bucky can’t help but grin. Their glasses clink and they each take a generous gulp.

 

 

The night wears on, the energy kicks up, the club fills up (not to too packed but enough), and they’re in one of the more private rooms that is much less crowded, yet no less fun. Tony pulls Bucky onto the dance floor, with cheers from on lookers. He goes with it because he’s _just a bit_ tipsy and he wants to dance. Tony’s grinning like a madman, a champagne flute in the hand that snakes around Bucky’s neck.

The current song mixes old big band with new beats and he dances in time with Tony, pushes his thigh in between the other man’s, hands loose on his hip, and receives a warm breathy chuckle.

‘Trying to make Cap jealous?’ Tony asks in his ear.

‘No’

‘Are you sure?’ and there’s a hint of mischief in Tony’s voice that Bucky’s always admired, and what turned his original prickliness towards the billionaire into frank like.

‘Why else do you think I’m dancing with you?’ he snarks and Tony releases a high pitched indignant noise.

‘Because I’m a sexy piece of ass and you just couldn’t help yourself’ and Bucky drops his head onto his shoulder, shaking with mirth.

‘That’s totally the reason’ he assures him.

‘See? Thought so’ Tony says as the song comes to a close, a new one starting up immediately. Bucky wants another drink so he turns about in the direction of the bar. He shimmies through and orders a round of drinks for their table. The bar girl (Visnja), tall and blonde and cute, asks him how his night is going.

‘Great thanks, how’s yours?’

‘Not too bad. Not got many tips though’ she pouts before grinning.

‘Aw shame, I’m surprised though, you’re cute. When does your shift end?’

‘At 12’

‘If we’re still here come over to our table’ he suggests and she nods.

‘Thanks, I’ll do that. Your drinks are on the way to your table’ she says and he taps on the bar, about to go back to Steve and Tony when he accidently knocks a guy. He sways sideways and Bucky freezes, bracing for impact, and when it doesn’t come he says a short and curt ‘sorry, pal’.

‘No worries’ and then voice is smooth, matching the clean cut man it belongs to. He’s Bucky’s height, dirty blond, and _very pretty._ ‘Fancy a dance?’ he asks and Bucky smiles easily, fakely.

‘No thanks but I’ll buy you a drink for knocking into you’, he can be nice when he wants.

‘A charmer. Hmm. I’ll take that drink’ he says.

‘Another of whatever he’s having for him’ Bucky orders and the barman nods, fixing the drink. ‘I’ve left two friends of mine over there. Catch you later?’ he asks, the man licks his lips.

‘Sure. No worries’ and he hitches a smirk at the repeated phrase.

Bucky leaves him, wandering back to their table where Tony and Steve are having a raucous time, the drinks he had ordered cluttering the space. A few approachable dancers are milling near their area, looking interested – Tony knows two of the guys, the rest are happily introducing themselves. Steve looks warm and relaxed and pliant, he’s slightly slumped in his seat, and welcomes Bucky with an open grin.

‘There you are. Chatting up bargirls again?’ he asks and Bucky coughs.

‘Yeah, but I’m back now. What are we doing?’

‘Shots!’ Tony exclaims brightly, the people around them cheering. Once everyone has a shot, Tony shouts ‘One, two, three, down it’ and Christ that stuff burns. It isn’t tequila, it’s something else and it lights his blood.

It goes on like that for roughly another half an hour (Bucky’s not sure, he stopped looking at his phone an hour ago), Tony disappears dancing and Steve and Bucky take a few photos of him for blackmail the next morning.

 

 

‘C’mon’ Bucky says, pulling Steve’s arm.

‘What?’ Steve asks, his eyes are a tad glazed and he’s on the slow end.

‘C’mon lets go find a new room’ and, really, Bucky doesn’t know why he suggests it; however what he does know is he wants a change in music. The bubbly periodic songs are starting to make his head pound.

The next room, through two doors about a foot apart, is mellow and slow and the gold and black interior matches the treacly, hip grinding motion of the music. He recognises the song playing, it’s by a British band ( _Arctic Monkeys?)._ Bucky’s hand is still gripping Steve’s wrist and he yanks Steve over to a private booth. There’s a part of his alcohol addled brain that wants to latch onto Steve’s hips and grind into him until there’s a heated friction between them but he mentally shoves that aside.

‘Hey guys, want to do our shot challenge?’ asks a short, dark haired bar girl.

‘Sure, what it is it?’ Steve says in a camaraderie fashion.

‘Well it’s body shots, and if you complete it, you get a limited edition bottle of _Extra Añejo_ tequila’ and Bucky looks to Steve who has tensed up a little.

‘Didn’t Clint say he wanted a bottle of that?’ Steve asks Bucky, and he blinks is surprise because, yes, Clint was nattering on about finding an exclusive bottle.

‘Yeah, you’re right. Bring it on’ Bucky agrees and she goes to get the ingredients.

Five minutes later, she re-appears with a tray and sleek black card with instructions. Wow. Here Bucky thought it was going to be simple.

‘I’m afraid it’s not just normal body shots’ and Bucky thinks they might have found the one room in the club that has a pseudo-sexual feel, the couple not far from them are getting into it. ‘Just so you don’t cheat. Ladies and gentleman, we’ve got two contestants for body shot challenge!’ and there are suddenly all eyes on them. ‘It starts off very easy and gets _harder_. Have you got the guts to go all the way through with it?’ and he doesn’t like how she says that. Steve isn’t one to back down from a dare once he’s agreed to it and Bucky doesn’t like losing face.

 

That, is exactly, how Bucky ends up on his knees, a shot glass lodge in the waistband of Steve’s jeans, his shirt hoisted up to show off firm abdomen. There is absolutely no way Bucky will remove that shot and drink it without laying his lips onto Steve. Why does he have to wear fucking low slung jeans? (Bucky suspects he’s been taking fashion advice from Clint who’s shameless. Then again, Bucky loves his skin tight jeans so he’s a hypocrite. Shut up.)

Bucky flashes an encouraging  smile, licks the salt off the back of Steve’s hand, burrowing away the bland taste, and leans forward. The noise of the small crowd picks up. Bucky dips, catches the shot glass and pulls it out slowly, mouth grazing over Steve’s warm skin. Then he knocks his head back to drink it. The tequila slams into the back of his throat and he bites the lime and the people cheer.

‘Nicely done’ the bar girl approves.

Bucky stands, the world tilting, this has been, what, their seventh or eighth shot? Of this room, anyhow. The first five shot tasks were each other’s hands and wrists, holding their own shots (perfectly PG). Now? Yeah their slipping into PG-15 territory. Steve smiles loosely, he’s open and trusting, and Bucky fists a hand in his shirt, kissing him chastely on the mouth. Their mouths are sticky and sweet and he breathes in harshly as they separate.

‘Your turn’ he tells Steve, the man sobers, and his eyes flick to the card – the list. Bucky shudders, very aware that this is about to spiral out of their comfort zone. He snorts, like this is their comfort zone. Again shut up.

‘Shirt off’ Steve says and the onlookers applaud happily. He searches Steve’s face for anything, finding defiance and willpower, and everything that Bucky has longed for since he met him. The bass vibrates the floor and Bucky nods, puts space between them and he complies. His black tee falls on the plush cushioned seat and he self-consciously flexes. The bar girl who started this entire charade has hot eyes focused solely on him. He juts his jaw up, spreads his arms out a little. He picks up a lime wedge and purses his lips around it, wincing at the acid. Thinking about it is not viable option as Steve is right there again, his breath tumbling out in soft pants, and Bucky’s hands twitch to touch.

Steve shakes salt, it trickles down Bucky’s collarbone, the shimmery slick of sweat keeping it in place. Desire flames in a twist in his gut, he can just say it’s been a while and he’s in a sexual environment, and it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the Steve’s hand on his bicep and the concentration on his friend’s face that’s applied to battle plans. Steve ducks and his eyes close unintentionally as Steve licks a path up his chest to his neck in a wet diagonal. His hips press forward and he’s pretty sure he moans and it’s lost in the sound of everyone else who are enjoying the free show. Whether Steve notices or not is irrelevant as he’s straightening up and gives him a one sided grin that makes him look about sixteen. Steve sucks the lime out of Bucky’s mouth and all he can think is _thank fuck_. He returns the grin, licking his lips. Steve’s eyes track the movement and so Bucky, like the asshole he is, repeats the action, slowing it down.

‘Your turn’ Steve says absently, as if he’s not quite with it. His eyes go half-mast and he looks well on his way to debauched – the thought doesn't do anything to repress Bucky’s arousal.

‘Well, I’m standing here shirtless, think you can join me?’ he asks, peeking at the list, they have to do double of Steve’s choice anyway, so why not now? Plus that gets them on an even playing field. If Bucky got good reception from removing his shirt, Steve gets roundhouse whistles and hums of appreciation, especially from the women (the bar girl whistles). Who can blame them? Looking at Steve is like looking at an Adonis. He’s all smooth light caramel skin that goes on for freakin’ miles. Darcy had once said _‘It’s like he’s photo shopped’_ which apparently was a reference to some chick flick. Bucky thinks, yeah, she has a point. Steve doesn’t look all that comfortable, even though he’s pretty far gone, he’s not a stage whore. Bucky takes pity on him, takes the salt shaker off him, picks up a lime and smiles with teeth. Steve takes it and he lingers on the way Steve’s lips mould around the fruit segment.

He angles Steve’s head to the right, and lines salt, at the start of his chest and up his neck. It’s almost a mirror of Steve’s, just more daring to move this along.

‘You guys are well on your way to winning’ the bar girl says, her voice distant, and Bucky had forgotten why they were doing this. For Clint.

That stupid bottle of tequila, that’s why, right?

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat, Steve pokes him in the stomach, reminding him, and he steps forward. He curls a hand around the back of Steve’s neck, pinching in the short hairs, and lowers, licking upwards, slower than he should, and stopping at just below Steve’s ear, sucking the vulnerable flesh and nipping at his ear. Steve’s head is cradled down towards his own and he whimpers. Bucky wants to hear more of that, _oh god he does._ Someone hands him a shot from somewhere and he downs it, the tequila is practically water by now. Steve lifts his head and Bucky bites the lime, deliberately, avoiding Steve’s mouth as much as is possible, even though all he really wants to delve into his mouth and lay claim – something he should have done years ago. There is applause and Bucky’s head swims violently with the wave of noise.

‘You are over half way there. Not long to go now’ she makes it sound like their watching a baseball match and in a way: they’ve become entertainment.

It’s mad, completely insane, and Bucky can’t bring himself to give a shit. He knows if Steve didn’t want to be here, they wouldn’t be doing any of this, because Steve doesn’t do anything for anybody but himself, peer pressure need not apply. He slouches in the seats, not trusting his legs anymore and he blinks, clearing his head.

‘You guys okay?’ the bar girl asks and a few people have moved away leaving a much smaller crowd. It’s unexpectedly intimate, and Bucky is thankful for the low lighting, because the bulge in his grey jeans is extremely obvious. ‘You know you can stop. I’ll give you the bottle anyway for being awesome and giving a really hot show’ she says, smiling and she goes over to the casing, picks out the bottle and hands it to Steve. It’s crystal and really beautiful actually, Bucky thinks blearily.

‘Thanks’ Steve says and he’s giving her his _Captain America_ smile. The affect it has is instantaneous and Bucky feels a jolt of jealously which he knows is ridiculous.  

‘You're welcome. There’s a private room through there if you guys want to get away from everyone’ and what exactly she’s implying Bucky isn’t certain, however, a private room sounds just the thing.

Bucky hauls himself up, and takes the tequila and the salt with him and leaving the limes, because if they’re having a conversation he _fucking needs_ the alcohol. The room is small and plush, plus an en suite, and there’s an elongated couch (or chaise lounge?) and Bucky has pure tunnel vision for it. He clunks the salt shaker and the tequila down and slides his hands through his hair, elbows on his knees.

‘Clint’s going to be really happy’ he says and Steve huffs a laugh.

‘Yeah, he’ll be over the moon’ and Bucky rises his head. Steve is way over the other side of the room, which, okay, isn’t _that_ far but it’s the principle of the thing. Steve’s the responsible one – always has been – and Bucky can see both their shirts, and that bloody limited edition bottle. Bucky flops backwards, he’s half sitting, half lying on the couch.

‘Steve-‘ he says, not sure what he is going to say, he doesn’t regret it, and it’s selfish but… whatever.

‘We technically didn’t finish the list’ is what Steve offers and Bucky watches him, hand carelessly groping at the tequila to his right. He knows that Steve memorised that list in reading it the first time around.

‘We got the bottle for Clint’ he says. He’s trying to be a good friend. After all the shit recently - he's _trying._

‘I don’t care about the bottle, Bucky’ Steve says quickly, Bucky sees the flush that spreads over his face.

Bucky feels fuzzy, and warm, and easy.

‘Get over here’ he grits out, and Steve does that, positioning himself between the sprawl of Bucky’s legs. Steve grabs the salt and makes a trail up from his navel to his chest bone, along the line of his abs.

‘Hold still’ Steve murmurs, and he gently pours some tequila in the hollow of Bucky’s throat. Bucky gulps, wills his body to calm, and Steve sits back waits for a second or two. From under his lashes, he can make out the hunger in Steve’s gaze and it urges his hips to roll. Instead, he contracts his stomach in steadying breath.

Steve laps at the first bauble of salts that’s collected, then tonguing up his muscles, his mouth open so Bucky can see the tip of his white teeth. Bucky’s panting wetly; his hips jerking to seek friction against the larger, hot body that’s hovering over him. Steve’s practically crawling up his body now, sucking at the hollow of his throat. It’s messy. Bucky manhandles Steve to get him straddling him, and then catches Steve’s lips as he readjusts. He sweeps his tongue along the full curve of Steve's lips before he deepens the kiss when Steve’s lips part. He closes his eyes and stops thinking about friendship and everything – his brain content with the allocation of its functions – except the feel of Steve so close to him and the way he tastes, so _good_ that Bucky wants more. Steve doesn’t kiss sweet. He kisses like he’s going to war, like there’s an undead army in the next room and this is all he can have. Bucky pushes back, nibbling at Steve’s bottom lip. He runs his hands over Steve’s arms, shoulders and back, drops his hands to his hips and grinds them against his own – and Steve’s just as hard and wanting as he is. They both moan and then look at each other and laugh breathily; and they’re okay. Their foreheads are touching, breathing each other’s air, their mouths centimetres apart.

‘I’ve wanted you for ages’ Steve confesses, ‘Years’ and his eyes are pure black.

‘Coulda fooled me, pal’ he says, gruffly, then adds, ‘Christ your beautiful’. He shoves at Steve’s chest. ‘Swap places’ he says and Steve clambers off, his usual elegance kind of fucked and Bucky loves it.

Then there’s a lot of awkward moving. He revels in Steve lying half naked and flushed, his mouth a smeary red, and he wishes he was more of a gentleman. Snagging the bottle of tequila he pours it down Steve’s abs, just enough so it doesn’t hit his jeans (Bucky might be drunk but he’s still got capable use of his motor functions, shocking as that is). He puts the tequila on the floor, and he takes his turn to lick the solid muscle that twitch under his tongue, drinking the tequila greedily and biting his teeth into the juncture above Steve’s pelvis. Steve arches, moans what might be his name although Bucky’s more interested in leaving a mark – a signature. Possessiveness will always be his failing. He holds Steve’s arms, pressing them into the couch’s back, Steve could throw him off if he wants: Bucky somehow thinks he’s perfectly content, so he makes claws and bites his nails into the soldier's skin. He continues his quest, scrapes the ridges of his teeth lazily over a nipple, and then sliding his thighs across Steve’s, sitting in the bigger man’s lap, reclaiming his mouth.

This kiss is familiar, the need still there, the burning lust is a steady pulsating flame. Steve’s hands run up the back of his thighs, massaging them. Bucky stutters a moan into his mouth, rocking into him, he’s feeling dazed as if he’s about to wake up from a very intense dream.

‘I’m surprised at you’ he pants, ‘That was voyeuristic back there’

‘I thought I’d never get another chance. You know me, I take what I want’ Steve replies with a breath-taking smile, eyes still glassy.

‘I’m going to do that too’ he says, undoing Steve’s belt, then his jeans. Steve took a moment to catch up with him, his hands on Bucky’s jeans. In all honesty, it’s like being sixteen again, all fumbling and really they should be more smooth by now, and Bucky feels like he’s back in Brooklyn, before the war, before _Captain America_ , before everything got complicated, sharing a bed with a smaller blond boy and ashamed to jerk off beside him.

Steve’s warm palm encloses both of their erections as soon as their briefs stop confining them; Bucky lays his own on top - directing. He grabs Steve’s free hand, slips his first two fingers – artists fingers, trained to ball into fists to make a soldier’s punch – into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks. It’s a promise of another time. Bucky’s bangs fall into his eyes, the hair irritating, adding to the fusing friction and the world where it’s just _them_. Their rhythm gets steadily more erratic, entwined in one another, Steve’s forehead falls to rest on the thick of Bucky’s shoulder.

It coalesces like a splash of pleasure, Bucky groaning around Steve’s digits, his friend biting into his shoulder juncture hard enough to leave a bruise: they come together. Steve withdraws his fingers from between his lips (Bucky doesn’t whine at the loss) and they makes a soft wet pop. He scowls at his lap, hand is the most covered in come. He’s about to grimace and bitch when Steve lifts his hand, licking it clean. It’s so dirty and a thing you don’t associate with Steve Rogers, his is hips jolt in tired interest. Moving is overrated and yet the idea of dried come, which is splattered across their bellies – is gross, so he tucks himself away, and jostles himself to a standing position.

Bucky’s jeans are still undone and he walks directly over to the bathroom, shutting the door, braces on the marble sink and staring in the mirror. He's heavy, sated and good.

‘I don’t want to talk about it’ he mutters to his reflection, and then sighs in frustration.

 

 

_ The morning after the night before _

That is all he he’s got, he doesn’t remember re-dressing (because his black t-shirt is on his carpet floor) and he doesn’t remember meeting up with Tony again. Apparently he and Steve did, leaving directly afterwards. Tony had come looking for them, he says in his text, he _saw them._

He takes a shower, throws on some sweatpants and a fresh t-shirt – ironically a S.H.I.E.L.D training shirt – and goes on the hunt for Steve.

Bucky finds him eventually sitting at the kitchen table, drawn into himself, and he waits for Steve to realise he’s there.

‘Tony said you weren’t pleased in hearing about the events of last night’ his voice is clipped, like it’s never been with Bucky.

Bucky shuts his eyes, exhales noisily, and unconsciously rubs his left arm.

‘I need to talk to Tony’ he mumbles, louder he says ‘Look, pal-‘ he begins, his phone vibrates and he checks it.

 

_Clint: Cheers for the bottle, mate. Nice one. How’d you get it?_

Bucky covers his face in his hands, still holding his cell, the slim body digging indentations.

 

‘Oh fuck this’ Bucky gives up, he chucks his phone on the surface, it skids and makes a clatter. He rounds the table in two strides, ceases the tirade he knows is soon to flow by planting his lips firmly, resolutely and so very soberly over Steve’s.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos/comment if you like it :) <3


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